


Smile. Wave. Don’t break.

by Spoopyroll



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Charles Leclerc needs a hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 06:45:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18987400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoopyroll/pseuds/Spoopyroll
Summary: Everything felt so loud, yet somehow not loud enough. Even with all that noice from the still driving cars only blocks away, he feels like everything’s all muddy and cloudy around him.‘Wave. Sign. Smile. Do not disappoint.’





	Smile. Wave. Don’t break.

Camera flashes in his face as he walks quickly over the paddock, along with other Ferrari personnel. He walks stiffly, his head held high, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the outside world. 

‘Smile.’

He walks past a hoard of fans, all in Ferrari red. He glimts over to them as he walks by, not daring to face them. To face the disappointment, the pity. 

‘Wave’ 

He waves half-heartedly, hoping that will justify his selfish decision somehow. 

‘Walk straight ahead. Keep moving. Smile. Wave. Nod.’

It all becomes a mantra he keeps quietly to himself. He can’t show himself. Not now. Now with this disappointment again hanging over him as a brewing thunderstorm. If he slips up once, he’ll crack his carefully built shell. He suddenly realizes how much cheeks are hurting.

‘Keep yourself together.’

he tells himself as he enters the paddock, and what feels like a million photographers shine over him with their metallic glances. Every single one of them trying to capture his feelings so they could sell it, as if the world didn’t know how he felt.

‘Just a few more blocks.’ He tells himself. ‘Keep them out. Keep them out. Keep them out.’ 

Everything felt so loud, yet somehow not loud enough. Even with all that noice from the still driving cars only blocks away, he feels like everything’s all muddy and cloudy around him. 

‘Wave. Sign. Smile. Do not disappoint.’ 

The fog suddenly cleared slightly as he reached his drivers room. He could finally see. A moment after he enters the room the call of “ five minutes until media duties “ is heard from behind him. The door finally locks, and he’s finally alone for the first time that day, but he still couldn’t allow himself to breathe. 

There was still so much press and media to get through before he could leave the paddock and retreat back to safety in his own home. 

He wished he could just do the latter, and go home and not see the sun for a day or two, but Ferrari could never allow that. Their so called golden boy still had to shine over the press and show that there was no broken relationships in the team. That everything was ok, even though the most basic watcher could see the cracks. 

“Let’s go” the media lady for Ferrari, someone he should’ve learned the name of, calls him to join her down to the paddock yet again. 

‘Smile. Nod. Wave.’ 

He tells himself yet again. Feelings was something he couldn’t allow himself. He couldn’t when Jules died. He couldn’t when his father died. He couldn’t when the first win of his career slipped from his fingers through no fault of his own, so why should he be allowed to feel now?

‘Don’t. Crack.’

The fog was back before his eyes again. The media is more brutal than usual today, but that was to be expected for the home town hero. But still, the journalists felt more like seagulls, ripping him apart like some piece of bread, trying to milk him for every sign of emotion he let slip past his iron grip.

His cheeks started to ache more and more with every picture with a famous somebody who probably didn’t even care about the actual Grand Prix. They only wanted a picture with Ferrari’s new broken golden puppy, who they didn’t care enough for, having to stay outside in the rain while their other dog got the best of treatment.

He gasped quietly, catching himself in thought. Had he slipped up? Had he shown a hint of his true emotions while he had been long gone in thought?

‘Smile. Wave.’

His eyes were slightly unfocused under the sunglasses, trying to figure out what happened in those moments. His voice was stiffer than usual, trying to convince himself more than the others that “he was fine. He felt ok. There was nothing to worry about”. 

‘Stay. In. Control.’

He couldn’t breathe. His vision was too foggy, his voice was too raspy, his cheeks were all cramped up and he couldn’t breathe. 

As soon as he got the sign, he bolted out of there. Not sprinting, but kindly whispering to the million-dollar crowd that “he was very tired and wanted to go home and rest a bit after a stressful weekend, thank you for showing your support.” 

He let out his loudest sigh as he entered his Monaco apartment. It felt as if his shoulders were a hundred kilos lighter, lifting the baggage of the whole Ferrari team and Monaco off of his back.

The moment he let himself breathe, he cracked.

Fumbling into his dark bedroom, he crashed himself into the sheets of the half empty bed. He felt chocked sobs forcing their way up his throat as he tried to get himself to calm down, but how could he. 

He had failed. FAILED. 

He hadn’t even been able to even finish the goddamn race. How could anyone look at him without a trace of disappointment. What would Jules and his father have said to this behavior?

The tears and emotions he’d kept bottling up during the weekend had finally boiled over. He couldn’t stop it. He had denied himself for too long and now came the consequences. 

If he wasn’t so lonely, things might’ve been better, but they weren’t. His family, or what was left of it, was scattered all over the city. He couldn’t ask them to join him at home, he couldn’t be that selfish. They were having a good time hanging out with friends, being in a good mood. He couldn’t bring himself to drag them down this rabbit hole with him.

But somethings he wish he could be that selfish, that he could go and just bawl his eyes out on someone’s shoulder. Someone that should’ve been there with him, that should’ve still been alive and racing. But he left nearly 4 years ago and he still wasn’t over it.

The emotions came crashing over him yet again, drowning him in hiccups and sobs. He messily grabbed his duvet from the bed, curling it into a ball and shoved his head into the soft, cold material, wishing it could’ve been someone.

“... I’m sorry...” 

He murmured lowly to himself between the overpowering hiccups. 

 

“j'ai besoin de vous.. s’il te plait..”

He didn’t want to feel this. He didn’t want to feel so helpless, so lonely. He didn’t want to feel like an object from an exhibition, separated from the rest, with all his flaws of full display. He didn’t want to feel this pity.

He didn’t want to feel.

The phantom of a touch on his shoulder startled him. He whipped his heavy head up as fast as he could. When he looked around his dull grey room, his eyes suddenly fell on a figure in the shadows of a corner. 

‘I must be going insane.’ Charles thought as he put his palms to his face, rubbing his eyes.

‘I’m so desperate I’m actually seeing ghosts.’ He muttered anxiously. 

He looked up again and the figure was more defined. He glanced up to the face of the figure and lost his breath yet again.

The bright red non-Ferrari shirt stood proudly out in the dark room. The curly but not curly hair was combed slightly, his uneven teeth was shingling towards him, dimples showing. 

“... Jul-..Ju.” 

He couldn’t breathe.

“...you’re no-t real..” he whispered shaking his head, knowing the truth but wishing so hard that he was wrong, that he was real, he was there.

“I am real.” The ghost of the once marussia driver said confidently, as he stepped towards his godson. 

“You just don’t believe me.” 

Charles wish he could. He really did, but he knew what happened that fateful day at Suzuka. 

Suddenly the ghost moved closer to him. Charles, afraid of breaking down even further, denying himself the hope, backed away into the back of his way too big bed, the comfortable duvet long forgotten on the floor.

The phantom of his friend wrapped his ghostly arms around him and an unexpected warmth hit him with an unexpected force. 

Charles’s red rimmed eyes swelled up once more as he hesitatingly wrapped his arms around Jules. His world crashing down at him once more. 

“Please come back.. pleaseplaseplase s'il te plait reviens.. I can’t do this alone...” 

Jules sat patiently, patting the back of his exhausted godson, but he knew Charles needed this. He always had to stay strong in his family, had to stay strong for Arthur when he had his races and broke down remembering the tragedies of his father or himself. 

Charles startled as Jules started to move away from him. Charles fumbled after him, not wanting one of his long lost best friends to go. 

“No.. don’t leave.. not again.”

Jules walks towards the balcony on the side of the apartment, then turning silently towards Charles again. 

“I’m sorry.. I have to leave again..” 

“.... nonoNO..”

“..goodbye mon petit..”

And as quickly as he appeared, he vanished towards the sky again, just like he did those years ago. 

Charles sprinted towards the spot where the ghost of his friend once stood. He’d left him. Charles wanted to scream, to curse out the world. He wanted to leave. He wanted to-

He glanced out on his country, the sea and old buildings glancing back at him. ‘His apartment was actually quite high above the streets below him’ he realized. 

He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he was just so emotionally exhausted and everything was going to shit around him. Could he give himself the allowance to think this way?

He glanced over the edge again. People wouldn’t mind, right? He wanted so badly to join his father and Jules again, and people would understand that, right? He started to lean slightly over the edge, just to look really, when-

“Charles?!” A frantic half scream was heard behind him, and he quickly turned, and he was met face to face with his second place winning teammate standing breathless behind him.

“Charles are you ok?” Seb asked as he quickly walked towards the Monégasque driver, quickly wrapping him in a tight hug. 

“Yeah.. I’m ok I think” Charles muttered lowly, accepting the welcoming shoulder as he leaned into his teammate. 

“We’ve been trying to contact you for hours, what have you been up to? Arthur and Lorenzo have been worried sick about you.”

He couldn’t bear himself to tell Seb what happened earlier, about what he saw, he couldn’t bother him with that. Instead he took the offered shoulder and hugged close, not answering Sebastians question, he was too exhausted for that. At least this was someone he knew would stay. 

At least for now.

**Author's Note:**

> “S’il te plait” = please  
> “J'ai besoin de vous” = I need you  
> “S’il te plait reviens” = please come back
> 
> Kudos and comments are very appreciated :)


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